


Love is a Downpour of Shelter

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: Based on a tumblr prompt request: Barry gets really mad and "breaks up" with Iris over a misunderstanding and they both react to not being together anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Nothing can be fixed, everything can be healed._ **

Barry remembers that quote when he thinks back to their fight a couple of days ago. It got out of hand, it really did. Be it because of his insecurities or her anger, he didn’t know. Or maybe it was his anger and her insecurities.

All he knew was that it had been two days too many since he’d talked to her, since he’d held her in his arms, since he’d kissed her lips and her neck and her collarbone, since he felt her breath on him, since he curled up next to her in bed, laid on her chest and felt her hands roaming his hair, and it all hurt him too much, it all made him feel like he’d lost the most important person in the world, it all made him sad and longing to have her back. 

He asked for the break though.

He was having a hard time remembering why right now. Now when he was in his lab alone at 11 p.m, files left unread, crimes left unanalyzed, papers left blank, because all he could think about was her.

It started as an innocent conversation. It started with them kissing, with them hugging, with them being relieved at the all-too-familiar feel of each other two nights ago. They’d both had exhausting weeks and they’d both been too tired to go out, so they settled on staying the night in, frustrations pent up from all the problems of their jobs, from all the people that refused to cooperate, from all the disasters that had gone wrong. Mostly, they’d both missed each other, and seeing each other less and less was becoming an issue neither of them had suspected.

Which is why Barry didn’t know what brought on her question. Why she decided to ask, in the middle of him nibbling on her neck, in the middle of his hands finding their way under her shirt and his leg finding its way between hers, whether he’d ever kept anything from her. 

He remembers stalling, his lips ghosting over her neck, his hands stilling on the naked skin of her waist. He remembers looking up to meet her eyes with a look that read of confusion. She looked back at him, her face somehow equivocal but sad, and when he didn’t answer, she asked it again.

_Have you ever kept anything from me?_

And really, he had. And they’d promised each other no more secrets when they first

became “official,” two months ago, when he came back home to her. They promised each other they’d be open, they’d be honest, they’d communicate more because they seemed to miss each other’s points a lot of the time, with too many pauses and interruptions plaguing their history, with too many unspoken silences and unfinished ellipses preventing a relationship that could have happened - that _should_ have happened - years back.

So Barry answered it.

He told her about their first kiss, about that day at the waterfront when they were about to die, when she admitted how she felt about him, when he revealed himself as The Flash to her. He told her all the details because he had them memorized, especially the taste of her lips on his, especially how she’d kissed him back, how she’d smiled at him like he was her love, like he was _her_ boyfriend, like no one in the world mattered to her than him.

And then it all disappeared. And she didn’t remember because he erased the timeline.

So she asked him why he didn’t tell her the next day.

He said Eddie.

She asked him why he didn’t tell her the next week.

He said Eddie.

She asked him why he didn’t tell her the next year.

He said Eddie.

She asked how the answer still was _Eddie_ a year later.

He said _because you chose him. You didn’t choose me. And you made that obvious._

She got upset at that. He didn’t understand why. Because she did choose Eddie. Time and time again, she chose him, stayed with him, even though she knew they were married in the future, even though she had told him she didn’t know what would happen when Eddie came back, she still chose him. And Barry was always a second thought.

She said that wasn’t true. He didn’t believe her.

They were both angry. He should’ve left her alone in that moment, so they could both catch their breaths, so they could both cool off and talk about it again with a clear head and maybe some extra sleep. But they didn’t do that. He didn’t leave. She didn’t either.

Instead she asked him _what else._

And this time, he debated telling her, but they’d promised. So he did. He told her about his kiss with Earth-2 Iris. 

She got mad at that. She asked him why he didn’t tell her before.

He justified it saying he told her they were married on Earth 2 and that’s all that mattered. For some reason, she didn’t agree.

So tempers were raised even more and feelings were hurt and both of them should’ve really stepped back at this point, the kissing they were doing before long forgotten, the longing they had for each other being replaced with something ugly, something opposite of love, something foreign to them. And he didn’t like it at all.

So she asked him again. Because she was a reporter afterall. And he had all the answers she needed.

He told her they kissed on the porch the night he left. He told her she told him she loved him. He told her she told him she’d wait for him. 

She did.

But it seemed like she regretted that in that moment, because there were tears in her eyes and regret written all over her face and he couldn’t decide whether to lean into her and kiss them away or whether to step back and give her space.

But part of him was upset because it seemed like it was all his fault, it seemed like she was putting the entire blame on him, when she had her own secrets too, when she had her own feelings she wasn’t sharing. 

So he pressed her about them. About why she hid from him for so long, why she ran away from him, why she kept leading him on, why she said what she did to Linda when they were dating, why she got so quiet when he pushed her about how she felt when she found out he was The Flash, why she was always hiding behind a single tear that seemed to fall too slow, that seemed to fall and never lead to anything more.

And she told him because she was loyal. Because she couldn’t just leave the man he loved. He told her she chose Eddie over him. Told her nothing else mattered to him than that.

She responded that that hadn’t been the case.

But he didn’t want to hear it.

That was two days ago.

And here he was in the solitude of his lab still wishing she were here, still wishing their past hadn’t been so messy, hadn’t been filled with missed opportunities and regrets, still trying to figure out who was to blame, why she had been so angry with him, still trying to understand how to fix what was broken between them. 

He missed her.

* * *

 

**_You are not weak, just because your heart feels so heavy._ **

It’s like every time they took one step forward, they took two steps back. And Iris was tired of it. Tired of being lied to. Tired of always finding things out too late or realizing that apparently she did things, only to not remember doing them. And the worst part was no one found the need to tell her.

She didn’t understand that part. 

It was like this paradox. Like she was living a different life, a life she took part in, but didn’t remember, a life she made decisions in and had control over, but was stripped from her before she got the chance to live with those decisions, before she had the chance to reflect on them, to do anything else with them because they were gone.

 _Damn_ _his speed,_ she thinks to herself in the depth of the night. The cup of coffee she’d made hours ago was still left untouched, was still sitting on her table like it had been when she first put it there. Her laptop’s screen had gone blank, her phone dead because it stayed on for too long and Iris kept replaying all the interviews she had, kept _beginning_ to write the article only to _stop_ again because the only thing she could focus on was him. 

Usually, when things got hard, she delved into her work. She put breaks on the world and focused on justice. This time, it was different. Because this time it was Barry and no one had the power to make her hurt like he did, to make her stutter in her tracks, to make her lose her motivation for anything because nothing amounted to him.

Her best friend.

And she cursed again, this time damning her love for him because it physically hurt, it physically

tore her apart how much she needed him, how much she missed his arms enveloping her, how much he missed him smiling into her neck and making silly jokes that kept her laughing even when she didn’t want to smile, how much she missed his voice and his smell, both always calming her, always grounding her, always keeping her _safe._

She felt unsafe right now.

It shouldn’t have escalated the way it did. It shouldn’t have have led her to here, to now where she was home alone in an apartment that seemed somehow too big for only her, in the dark of the night, without him by her side.

Maybe he had the right to be angry. But he didn’t let her explain.

And she had the right to be angry at him.

Because he kept too many things from her. He didn’t tell her he loved her until she was about to move in with her boyfriend. He didn’t tell her he was The Flash until she backed him into a corner, only to find out that she was the only person who _didn’t_ know. He didn’t tell her about their kiss.

Not about the first. Not about the second.

Not about the one with her doppelganger.

The last one didn’t upset her; it didn’t bother her that he kissed Earth-2 Iris. It bothered her he never told her. 

And sure, he justified it that he told her the most important part, that he told her they were married there, but even that didn’t fix anything because they never talked about it so they never figured out their feelings sooner and it would’ve cost him nothing to just tell her about the kiss as well.

But that was fine. The tears she was crying wasn’t because of that.

They weren’t even because of their second kiss, which also got erased, which she also didn’t remember.

She believed him when he told her what she’d said to him that night. Because it was true, she’d wait for him forever if he asked her to, she’d wear her heart on her sleeve for him, she’d do anything for him.

But what was bothering her was that he didn’t seem to believe her.

Because _Eddie,_ he’d told her _._ And he said he needed a break. And then he walked out on her. Said he was always second to her. Said he’d call her when he was ready.

He didn’t let her explain.

She would’ve told him she always loved him. That she just got stuck. That she loved Eddie too and it broke her heart because Eddie was who she depended on when he was in a coma, Eddie was the man who was always there for her, who held her in his arms every night she cried about him, who kissed her tears away, the tears that were falling for him and because of him. That Eddie gave her a solace when her life was falling apart, when her best friend was gone, and no matter how much she loved Barry, Eddie was the one who saved her from the consequences of that love.

She loved Eddie.

She loved Barry too.

He had to know that. He had to believe her when she told him she didn’t _choose_ Eddie. That that choice had been because she knew he was going back to save his mom and things would be _different,_ in that they’d be together and no one would have to get hurt. She didn’t get a chance to tell him he always had her heart.

Because they were both too angry and he doubted her love and she knew that was what was hurting her the most. That he’d lie to her. That he’d kept secrets from her. That he’d doubted her.

The same her who never doubted him.

But he walked out.

And she let him. 

And her heart felt heavier than it had ever felt. Her heart felt like it was weighing down her entire body, like she couldn’t stand up straight because she was shaking too much, because the tears were falling too fast, because her knees were too weak to hold the rest of her up, because it felt like she was losing him all over again when she’d already lost him twice, and they weren’t supposed to be fighting, this wasn’t supposed to happen between them, but it blurred her vision, made it all foggy and watery and everything hurt.

Everything hurt when he wasn’t there. She missed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Love is a downpour of shelter._ **

Somehow, he found himself outside her apartment. Maybe not somehow, because it seemed planned. Especially when he had ran himself across the world to get her some brownies before coming back home. 

It felt like he needed some sort of present, some sort of _thing_ to use as an apology because he still couldn’t remember what was worth leaving her for two days. But now it somehow felt small in his hands, and pointless...and not enough.

So he stood in front of her door, taking a deep breath, attempting to steady his hands which were shaking too much, so much so that the box almost fell to the ground.

He looked at the door. He looked back down at his watch. It was 11:30 p.m. Exactly 48 hours after their fight. Exactly 48 hours after he told her he needed a break.

 _Was two days long enough for a break up?_ The thought ran through his head as he mustered up the courage to knock.

Once.

Twice. 

Before knocking a third time, he forced his hand down, figured she’d have heard it. On the other side of the door, Iris stood, feet planted firmly in front of it.

She knew it was him.

Who else would knock on her door this late at night? Who else would be so soft, would immediately fill her with warmth, would mend her heart even from outside the room? Only Barry.

So she took another breath before reaching for the doorknob, before twisting it so slowly that her fingers almost didn’t have the strength to carry on with it. 

When the door unlatched from its frame and opened wide, they stared at each other. Neither moved. Neither could breathe. Both just looked.

And a few seconds went by - though it felt like minutes draggin on, agonizingly slow - before either of them remembered they could control their actions, that their nervous systems would comply, before they remembered they had the ability to reach out and hold each other, and they weren’t sure who made the first move.

All Iris remembered was pulling him down by the neck, was burying her head into his chest, was holding him so tight as if she was keeping him from leaving her again.

And all Barry remembered was the way she smelled, was the way she _felt_ against his body, all tender and steady, the way his mouth kissed the crook of her neck over and over, the way his tears fell onto her skin, the way he didn’t want to to let go.

She pulled away first. She crashed her lips to his first. She led him through the door. He backed her into her apartment. He backed her towards the couch.

His lips never left hers, her hands never unlinked from around his neck, their bodies stayed flushed against each other, so desperate, so longing; there was so much unspoken love shared between them, but so much pain, and Barry could tell she’d been crying, the salt from her tears falling on his lips, and Iris could tell he’d been shaking, his hands quivering on her waist.

So when she felt the back of her calves hit the couch, she reluctantly pulled away, still gripping him tightly, still breathing hard, still tasting his lips on hers. 

He sat down first and pulled her into his lap.

He wasn’t willing to let her go anymore. And if they were going to have this conversation, he needed to reassure her that he’d be here, that he wouldn’t leave, that there was no more anger, only pain, only a wish for remedy. 

Iris understood. By the way she kept her arms around his neck, by the way her head rested on his chest, by the way her legs curled on his lap. She understood.

She takes a breath, attempting to calm her beating heart, before speaking, in a hushed whisper. “I didn’t know when you’d come back.”

Barry kisses the top of her head. “I should’ve come back sooner.”

“’s okay,” she breathes into his neck, “I’m glad you’re here.”

And really, he could fall asleep right there, with her in his arms, with her body warming his, making him feel more comfortable and _home_ than he’d felt the past two days. This entire conversation could be forgotten, thrown out the window, because while part of him wanted an explanation, the other part of him just wanted _her._

But then he feels wet tears on his neck, so he asks, “why’re you crying?”

“Missed you,” she whispers.

“I’m here.”

“Don’t leave anymore.” 

The tremble in her voice makes him ache, makes him want to kiss all the pain away, so he pulls away from her, shifts her eyes to focus on him before leaning down to give her lips a soft kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs into her lips.

“I’m sorry too.”

Iris kisses him again, more for herself than for him, as a reminder that he was in her arms, that he was back, that as long as they were together, they could work through it. They could figure it out. Together. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” she asks, the question leaving her lips before she can stop it. 

He shrugs his shoulders ever so slightly, before shaking his head no.

“When you were in a coma, the first few months, I couldn’t sleep anywhere but inside your room. Dad never asked any questions. We never talked about why. But the first night I came home from the hospital, the house felt too empty. It felt too dark and scary, it didn’t feel like a home.

Your room did.” 

She takes a breath and he brings a finger to wipe the tear off her cheek.

Still, she continues. “I slept there every night for the first two months. Then one day, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. 

You’d had another seizure. I was sure I lost you. I was sure that was it. You didn’t stop shaking. So I ran to the house and locked myself inside my room. I couldn’t stand the smell of you anymore, I couldn’t stand the memories that would flood me whenever I went inside. I couldn’t stand having that hope, when every day, you didn’t wake up. When every day, you weren’t there. And I was alone.”

Barry feels his own tears on his cheeks. She meets his eyes and for a split second, he can see her smile, before it disappears again, the sadness coming back instead.

“I went out with Eddie because it meant I didn’t have to go home. It’s why I said yes to the first date. Because he was a distraction from you.

And he made me happier than I’d been for the past three months. He took my mind off of you. He filled part of the hole your absence left. He made me feel less empty and less alone. He made me feel warm.

He let me cry. He held me in his arms every night because he knew I needed it. So I started spending the nights there because another body felt comforting, another body made the pain go away...made the pain of losing you go away.”

“Iris...”

The way he says her name sends a shiver down her spine, goosebumps coming to cover her arms and she places a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting the silence fill the room for a bit.

She’s the one shaking now. He’s the one crying.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” she repeats.

He doesn’t answer.

“It hurt thinking about you when you were in a coma. Almost as much as it hurt thinking about you when you disappeared. 

Barry do you remember how, when we were younger, school wasn’t always easy for you?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, cringing at the vivid memories of bullies and those who made fun of him, who teased him mercilessly.

“Do you remember how I always held your hand? How sometimes, after school, we’d run straight for home?”

“Yeah.” 

“Because home was safe. Because there, no one could hurt you. There, it was just us. We had a haven we called our own.” 

He nods his head again. She meets his eyes.

“When you were in a coma, I felt like I was always running. I was always chasing after another place because one day we were going home together, and the next day you weren’t there and I didn’t know what home was anymore.

It wasn’t a shelter anymore. It didn’t feel protected.

It felt empty.

It felt lonely. 

It felt dark. Without you.”

And suddenly, Barry understands that while his life stilled for 9 months, hers didn’t. That he couldn’t remember anything that happened. But she remembered every detail.

So he gives her a look filled with sympathy, the streaks from his tears still shining from the light in her apartment, new tears forming fast. 

Iris lets out a breathy laugh. Almost like one she has to force out.

“I spent the nights you were away waiting on the porch for you. Sometimes I’d go to the Jitter’s rooftop. Sometimes I’d go visit your lab. I made it a game, really. Every week, it became a new adventure, every day I hoped you’d surprise me at CCPN, at CCPD, at Jitters, in front of the house, every day, I imagined running into your arms, seeing your face, kissing you because I missed you so much.

And one day you did.” 

“3 months later,” he sighs.

“I would’ve waited 3 years, Bear.” He doesn’t doubt that.

He looks at her, his eyes reflecting off hers. “Because that’s how much you love me.” She confirms it with a kiss.

He’s never felt so safe before.

“I’m sorry I kept so many things from you,” he whispers into her neck, placing a gentle kiss there too, “I should’ve told you so much of this sooner.”

Iris plays with his hair, her fingers softly lacing through the strands of brown. She listens. 

“I didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. I had no excuse about telling you I was The Flash. I should’ve done that. But about the kisses, about our first one, especially. It felt like if I told you, I would’ve put you in a tough position and you would’ve gotten mad or pushed me away.

Iris, I could handle having you in my life, even if you loved someone else. But I couldn’t handle not having you in my life at all.

When you and I had a fight about your blog, the only way I could stop myself from running over and apologizing was by running over and talking to you as The Flash. I could never lose you. 

And I was scared.

Because I wanted to believe you loved me too. I wanted to believe you meant that kiss. That it  _meant_ something for us to be married on Earth 2. That you wouldn’t be upset with me if I told you I changed the timeline after you told me you loved me. 

I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt myself. It just felt like those things were left better unsaid.” 

She could understand that, where he was coming from. They’d always been bad at words when it came to their relationship. Which is why they made that promise when he came back. Like it was a pact on both their parts to do better.

So she mumbles a quiet _okay_ into his hair, before pulling back to see him. Because she understands. And she forgave him the same night he told her he wanted a break, she’d always forgive him. She’d always meet him halfway.

“Do you doubt you’re my choice?” she asks.

“No.”

“Do you doubt me?”

“No,” he shakes his head, because he doesn’t. Because he knows now, he didn’t before, but he knows now. 

“Okay.” 

And when the word leaves her lips, his lips replace it because god he’s missed her, he’s missed every inch of her, he’s missed her smile and her laugh and her arms around him. 

So he kisses her lips bruised and he kisses her jawline till he feels her breathing erratic and heavy and he kisses her neck, lingers on it too long and Iris shifts positions so that she’s lying on the couch, so that he’s covering her body with his, so that he’s face to face with her. 

He stops to hold her gaze, to see her eyes, so filled with love, so filled with the glisten only found in the moon, and he pauses to take all of her in. 

Her hands stop roaming under his shirt and she pauses with him. She stares into his eyes, sees they’ve dried, sees the hints of a smile, sees the way they crinkle. So she pulls him down to her, gently, just enough to where she can catch his lips with hers again, because she wants all of this, and she wants all of him. 

She _needs_ him. She needs him with her, promises herself in between kisses and touches that she’ll be there for him every step of the way, that their future won’t be like their past, with too many missed opportunities and too many untaken leaps of faith.

And when he feels her breath on his chest, when he tugs her shirt off and unhooks her bra, when he hovers his lips right over her heart, he promises himself that he’ll be honest, that he’ll say everything he needs to say to her, that he’ll be there, that he won’t leave ever again, because this was Iris, the same Iris who held his hand when they were growing up, the same Iris who put her faith in him when the whole world turned its back, the same Iris who’s holding him now, who’s wrapping her arms around him like he’s the only one who matters, and she’s his home. She’s his _home_. Her body, her heart, all of her. She’s where he wants to be, who he wants to be with, she’s everything to him, every smile, every breath of air, every ray of light. 

So he kisses down her chest and his fingers move to her zipper and he feels her hands in his hair again, feels her back arch with every touch.

And after, she pulls him back up to her, holds him so tight that they come undone together, that they collapse together, their bodies keeping each other warm and safe. So she kisses him softly, kisses any insecurities away, nibbles on his neck before resting her head on his chest, willing them both to sleep, because they were here together, they were okay right now... 

They’d always be okay.


	3. Coda

She stares at the mirror, gazing at the purple on her lips and the faint purple on her neck, notices how the bruising still looks raw, like she hadn’t slept with it for the past few hours. Her hand comes to rub over the tender spot before trailing up to her lips, her fingers feeling every line. She brings them together, brings her teeth to bite on her bottom lip. It doesn’t hurt.

This doesn’t hurt.

But her hands come to wrap around her body, feeling the skin underneath, feeling where Barry’s lips and hands and tongue were the night before. She lets her fingers graze over her stomach, lingers on the area around her belly button. She could still feel him on her.

The memory of him was on her was all over her, was in her brain and on her body. 

Sometimes that made her shiver. Sometimes their intimacy scared her. Sometimes her love for him scared her. She didn’t want him to slip out of her hands, didn’t want to ever wake up without him by her side.

Still, things felt heavier than they should’ve been. 

It was a good talk. A talk they needed. But the dark of the bathroom was chilling her senses, almost numbing her to anything else. Or maybe it was the breeze coming from the window that was doing it. Something about the color scheme of the room with its black and its dimmed white from the light left her haunted though; something about the feel of him on her, ghosting over her when he wasn’t there, left her a bit cold.

Her eyes dip down to her lips and she remembers the way he kissed her, the way he was aggressive with her, like he couldn’t wait any longer to taste all of her. At one point, she had to pull away from his mouth because it was _too_ strong of a grip. Her mouth migrated to his neck instead. But he pulled her back for another kiss, and it felt like he couldn’t stand to be pulled apart from her.

That scared her too. 

How powerful their connection was.

So much so that she felt the tears forming in her eyes, but she couldn’t figure out why. They were okay. They’d be okay. They talked about it. They made their amends. It was good. 

And yet, here she was, alone in the depth of the a.m.s, standing in front of a mirror, not able to grip exactly where she was, feeling like she didn’t belong in some way, feeling too cold and too scared and too _heavy._

So she splashes some water over her face for good measure. Just to remind herself that this was the here. That she could still grasp something tangible, that she wasn’t so weighed down that she didn’t have any control of her body.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was the fact that his love made her lose control. That she couldn’t fathom losing him for a split second, let alone for two days. That she didn’t know how she managed those nights alone.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was keeping her up right now. It seemed ironic in a way.

She still didn’t know how to wake up without him. That’s why she didn’t sleep. She didn’t think she could learn how to do that again.

Not like she wanted to anyway. But the _what ifs_ flooded her brain. _What if_ love isn’t enough. _What if_ something happens between them. _What if_ he hides from her. _What if_ she can’t look at him anymore because of it. _What if_ the fear overwhelmed her. 

And Iris didn’t have the answer to any of those. Their love was bound by the both of them, this imaginary string that linked them together. If he let go of it, it’d snap back. It’d leave its mark on her skin, a lot darker than any love bite could ever do. 

That was the thing about love. It hurt when it snapped.

And she didn’t want it to snap, didn’t want to feel that pain, a pain so strong, so resistant that it left running around doing a million things at once to stop herself from thinking about it.

But before she can get anymore thoughts in, she feels warm hands encircling her waist and suddenly realizes that she’d shut her eyes closed, that’d she’d spaced out for the last few minutes, lost in thought, because she didn’t hear him open the door and walk in.

Still, it feels nice. His arms around her, it feels _safe._ For some reason, it only adds to her fear, but it comforts her in another way.

Then she feels his breath on her neck, hears the way he whispers _come back to bed_ before kissing her right there, on the same spot this his breath just was.

And she drops her own hands to rest on top of his, pushing her back against his chest because he feels so strong against her, and she feels so weak.

Feels like her knees couldn’t hold her anymore.

Maybe that’s why she was clutching the counter before he came inside.

“Come to bed,” he says again, this time softer, so much so that it could’ve been her brain playing tricks on her, it could’ve just been the wind grazing the walls.

She hesitantly turns in his arms, and before she has the chance to look at his face, he’s already kissing her, so gently and so tenderly that Iris loses track of anything she was thinking of before, succumbs herself to all of him, wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him into her, pulls all of him into her, because she needs him right now, needs to know that he’s still here, that he won’t leave again, that she’s grounded, that they’re _okay._

She lets him pick her up. 

She lets him push her onto the bed.

She lets him roam his hands over her body, lets him kiss her wherever he wants, lets the feel of him consume her entirely. 

She lets him wrap himself around her, mold his body to hers.

She lets him remind her that right now, they’re okay. That he wouldn’t leave, that he’d never leave her, that she had to believe it with all of her, that she had to believe she was home, that _he_ was home, that they’d always hold each other, even through the roughest moments.

She had to trust in this love. Even if it scared her.

So she lets her eyes close again, lets her breathing steady, lets her legs tangle with his.

And she believes it. Even through the fear, she believes it. Because it didn’t hurt. It just left her breathless sometimes. But maybe that was okay too.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Emergency Contact by Andrea Gibson.  
> All the italicized lines to start the new sections are also lines from Andrea’s poetry.


End file.
